Sweetie
by you-need-imagination
Summary: Eames tries to help Arthur overcome his dislike of marshmallows. Arthur/Eames utter fluff


**Sweetie**

* * *

Thwack!

A pearly-pink, soft, spongy marshmallow thudded down on to Arthur's handwritten, highly detailed notes.

Arthur inhaled deeply with frustration. He now had seven of the squishy candies scattered across his desk.

_Don't indulge _he thought. _If you don't give him the attention, he'll get bored eventually and he'll stop._

Keeping his head slightly bowed, trying to appear unbothered, Arthur continued to write in his flowing script.

Another marshmallow soared across the room and bounced off the side of his cheek, which began to tick with suppressed fury.

His pen hovered above the page for a moment but before he had a chance to resume writing, a marshmallow ricocheted off the top of his black, liquorice hair.

He slammed his pen down his desk and snapped up, livid.

Opposite him, Eames was sat at his own desk, spinning slightly in his rickety swivel chair. A large bag of rosy-coloured marshmallows was placed in the centre of it amongst a mess of books and patterned cups that probably had things growing inside them.

"Stop. Doing. That."

Eames comically tipped his head to one side as if he was thinking and stared at Arthur, whose eyes were like discs of shiny, hard chocolate.

"No."

"Eames…"Arthur threatened. Rage started to burn beneath his ribs. "I'm trying to work. I don't want marshmallows all over my desk."

Eames' face was angelic and sweet. "So eat them up," he replied innocently.

The rage exploded in Arthur's chest.

"I don't like marshmallows," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Everybody likes marshmallows."

"I don't."

"Why?" Eames dragging the word out so it last a few seconds.

Arthur's eyes darkened and he moistened his lips. "When I was five," he began, his voice coated with sarcasm, "One of my cousins convinced me they were made from the brains of monkeys."

Curiosity perked up in Eames' face.

"Really?"

Arthur shrugged his shoulders in disbelief at Eames' apparent gullibility. "Sure, why not."

He picked up his pen, returning to his notes.

"If that's the case, me throwing marshmallows at you will cure you of your very irrational phobia."

"Will it now?" murmured Arthur.

"Oh, yes. It's called Flooding, a form of therapy based on classical conditioning. It involves immediate exposure to the feared stimulus." Eames reached into his bag of marshmallow. "That means I can throw as many marshmallows at you as I want because I am trying to help."

Eames flung a handful of marshmallows over to Arthur's desk, causing the brief illusion that the point man was caught in his own pink personal snowstorm. Eames pushed down a laugh. Arthur was probably going to have his thumbs for that in the next Dream-Share but it was worth it.

Arthur needed a new tactic. Without looking up, he simply stated, "I lied."

"Oh?"

"I just don't like the taste," uttered Arthur distantly, keeping his eyes down. "So you don't need to do that anymore."

Eames hummed. "Well, I don't believe you now. You've fibbed to me, Arthur. How will I ever trust what you say again?"

"You'll get over it."

"See, I don't think I will. You are going to have to eat one and prove to me that you don't like them."

"I don't have to do anything, Eames."

"Fine," Eames shot back lightly. "I'll just have keep throwing marshmallows at you."

Arthur didn't respond. A few silent minutes passed.

"I have another bag by the way," said Eames. Arthur glanced up. "And I know Cobb has got some stashed somewhere, so I'm not going to run out anytime soon."

Arthur grimaced. He snatched one of the marshmallows that decorated his desk, held it up for Eames to see and popped it in to his mouth.

His lips twisted in disgust. His teeth mashed down quickly on the pulpous, doughy surface. It didn't taste of anything but it still felt like his tongue was shrivelling up in his mouth. He tried to swallow the mushy ooze but it clogged the back of his throat. He coughed gently and chewed it again, trying to turn it into some sort of a pulp that he could gulp down but it wouldn't go.

He delicately picked up a tissue, covered his mouth and with as much elegance as he could, spat out the marshmallow in to the tissue and dropped it in to his wastebasket.

"Satisfied?"

Eames wrinkled his nose. "Not really. And that doesn't count because you didn't actually eat it."

"Too bad." Arthur sneered and he resumed his reading.

Eames stared off in to space, drumming his fingers against his plump, pink lips. After a few seconds, his fingers froze and he looked over to Arthur with twinkling eyes. His mouth slowly uncoiled into a devious smile.

"I'll make a deal with you," Eames said, getting up out of his chair. He moved over to Arthur's unnaturally neat desk and placed himself on the corner.

Arthur looked up, murder glinting in the windows of his soul. Eames continued unfazed.

"You keep a marshmallow pressed against your lips for, say, thirty seconds and I'll stop throwing them at you. I will let you get on with your work and you won't hear a peep out of me for the rest of the afternoon."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest but Eames cut in.

"Sod it, make it 'til the end of the week. How does that sound?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows. It sounded fairly unrealistic but Eames was unusually virtuous when it came to keeping his word. Arthur considered the Forger, who was currently rubbing his lips with his knuckles, as if he was scratching an itch.

He glanced over to the bag of marshmallows that was on Eames' desk. It was almost half-full.

"Fine," he agreed grudgingly.

Eames delicately picked up a marshmallow from the desk. He squashed it gently brought it towards Arthur's tightly closed mouth.

Arthur flinch back a fraction at the offending item.

Eames didn't miss the movement and smirked.

"You can close your eyes if you like."

With a scowl, Arthur tipped his head back slightly and closed his eyes, hoping that the loss of his vision would somehow lessen the ridiculousness of Eames' whimsical proposition.

Nothing happened.

Arthur was about to ask Eames exactly what his was waiting for when he felt the plump, squishy texture cushion itself against his lips. It was slightly warm, so Arthur assumed that Eames had been rolling the marshmallow around in his hand in the moments before.

It wasn't unpleasant but Arthur was fully aware of how bizarre he must have looked. However, it was a means to an end. If letting Eames play his silly, childish game got him out of the way, he'd be happy. He could return to his work and perhaps crawl in to bed at a decent time.

The pressure of the succulent marshmallow increased against his mouth. There was no way he was eating it and as he started to pull back something wet parted his lips.

Arthur wrenched open his eyes, unable to move.

Eames, with his head tipped on its side, was kissing him.

But as soon as the realisation dawned on him, Eames broke away, releasing the breath he had been holding.

"That's called positive reinforcement," said Eames with a hint of amusement, the barest of smirks tugging at his lips. "So the next time you come across marshmallows, you can think of me."

Arthur was totally dazed. His voice was stuck in his throat and his muscles had jellified.

Eames beamed. He swiftly rapt his knuckles against Arthur's desk a couple of time before quickly gathering up the spongy sweeties that he had chucked over and walked off, leaving Arthur alone to enjoy the lingering taste of his own marshmallow lips.

* * *

Ahhhh, the magic of dull afternoons. This only happened because I'd was writing another fic and had wrote 'marshmallow' to describe Eames'/TH's lips and I've used that word a couple of times before, so I needed a new adjective. So, I'll never feature the word 'marshmallow' in my stories again after this. Might go for 'Pink Jelly Babies' ;)

Big marshmallowy kisses for reading

Disclaimer: I own zip.


End file.
